


Assumptions

by micehell



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Drama, M/M, Some Humor, season 6 (it's so been jossed)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-24
Updated: 2007-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg was pretty sure that with both the pain in his leg and the pain in his head distracting him, that most of his verbal filters were off. Not that he ever had many to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assumptions

"I am having a no good, very bad, fucking horrible day."

"That's not the way that goes, Greg."

Greg knew that, though he was surprised that Grissom did. He could barely make the other man out in the near dark, but he was sitting close, hunched over Greg, broken ceiling beams framing them both. And even though he knew it made him a great big baby, and kind of a lousy friend, he was really glad that Gris was here with him. "Yeah, well it's justified artistic license on a day like this. I would ask what else could go wrong, but I know better than to tempt fate like that."

"Why exactly is it a no good, very bad, fucking horrible day… well, besides the obvious, of course?"

He started to shake his head in wonder at the novelty of Gris cursing, but the flare of pain behind his eyes made him stop. Trying to distract his stomach from its incipient revolution, Greg said, "Either I have a head injury or you just said fucking."

" _Or_ is the wrong conjunction in this case, and you didn't answer the question."

Greg was pretty sure that with both the pain in his leg and the pain in his head distracting him, that most of his verbal filters were off. Not that he ever had many to begin with, not even when talking to his boss, but it was probably safer if he didn't talk about a subject that might lead him to say something he'd regret later.

But then there was the pain in his leg, and the pain his head, and he really needed to keep his mind busy so that he didn't worry about the ceiling falling in again, so fuck the verbal filters.

"It started with my alarm clock not going off, though that might have had more to do with the fact that I threw it against the wall yesterday than poor manufacturing or anything, but it meant I was late getting up. Then, I'm taking my shower, doing all the things I usually do, getting nice and clean, and saluting the new day, if you know what I mean. But I'm late, so I don't have time for any quality bath time fun. Which is okay, me and Mr. Hand are old friends, and heat and friction will do the job without any fancy mind games, but I kept getting distracted by this really intense fantasy. Now, I don't always like rough, but with the right partner… well, this was certainly the right partner, well, fantasy partner, and just really big-"

Greg almost laughed when he realized that even in the dark he could tell when Grissom was getting that boggled look that only Greg seemed to give him. The tension in the hand that held Greg's was pretty good as an external verbal filter, too. "TMI, huh? Well, anyway, I wound up embarrassing myself by screaming out the wrong name. Mr. Hand may never forgive me. By then I'm really late, so I'm hurrying, hurrying, and totally forgetting how slick tile is when it's wet, so I wound up kissing the floor on top of everything else."

"Ah, so that's how you got the busted lip. I hadn't quite believed the story about the gorilla and the Norwegian flight attendant."

"Yeah, that might have been a little too much. So, anyway, I was really running late once I cleaned the blood up and all, and then I was in my car, speeding like crazy, fully expecting to get pulled over, but luck was finally on my side, 'cause when I about a half mile out from work, I'd actually managed to speed my way into being on time. So I was slowing down just so that I wouldn't get the expected ticket, and then, whammo! My engine dies."

"You know you really shouldn't speed. Besides the issue of you breaking the law even though you work in law enforcement, the statistics on traffic fatalities-"

Greg hurried on with his story before Grissom could tell him any gory details. "Yeah, well, I won't be speeding any time in the near future, so don't worry. Anyway, I managed to coast the car into a conveniently placed repair shop, but that's where my luck totally went the way of my engine, 'cause there was a long line and just one guy - who may or may not, I could never really quite tell, have spoken English - working the counter. But I persevered, 'cause I'm just that kind of guy, and I finally managed to convince the maybe-English speaking guy to let me spend loads of money I don't have so that he'd fix my car. Either that, or I convinced him to sell it for parts; one of those things, anyway. By now, though, I'm so far past late I'm in another time zone, and it wasn't the kind of shop that had a courtesy vehicle, and waiting for a cab would have just made me even later, so… feet it was. Which wouldn't have been so bad, because I'm pretty buff and all," Greg ignored the snort of laughter, "but of course it's like 80 gazillion degrees outside."

"I'm pretty sure that it's only 95 degrees outside, Greg."

"Yeah, who's telling this story, me or you?"

"Oh, it's definitely not me. Far too many asides to be one of my stories."

Greg laughed, almost regretting it when it jostled his leg. He bit his lip, holding tight to Gris' hand to ride out the pain. He felt the other hand on his head, lightly petting. It felt nice.

"They'll be here soon. Just hold on."

He nodded his head, carefully, knowing he was taking a little more pleasure in the touch than he should, but not really caring at the moment. His voice was getting a little hoarse, but Greg still needed the distraction, so he went back to his story. "It's all in the details, boss, all in the details. Anyway, I finally get to work, and I'm all sweaty and smelly, even though I'd just showered, and I'm tired 'cause I'd been running and because I'd worked doubles three days in a row, and then, to make things worse, my boss yelled at me for being late."

"I'm sorry, Greg, but it was the third time this month."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Pas de problemo, and I promise to get a new alarm clock as soon as we get out of here."

"I think you'll find it hard to shop for alarm clocks at the hospital, but since I'm pretty sure that leg's going to keep you out of work for a while, I don't guess it'll matter."

Just the mention of the hospital made his leg throb again, and Greg fisted his hands against it, forgetting that he had hold of Grissom until he said, "Greg, my hand."

"Oh, sorry." He loosened his grip, though he still kept hold of the hand. He liked it, liked the feel of the large palm, the thick fingers, the calluses that showed how hard he worked. Those hands had been a key feature of the fantasy that had helped to make him late this morning. He felt a little guilty about it, using someone he actually knew that way, but then what Grissom didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Pas de problemo." Greg gave a little giggle, almost smothered by his need to stay still, at hearing his own nonsense parroted back to him. Grissom gave his hand a shake to show his own amusement, then said, "So was that all that happened? Besides this, that is."

"Of course not. Because now I'm at work, all hot and stinky, and did I mention late? Which meant that all the good assignments had been handed out, and the only one left was the one that no one else wanted."

"I wanted it; though I must admit my enthusiasm for it might have waned a bit."

It occurred to Greg that of all the people he could have gotten trapped with under a fallen house, it was nice that it was someone whose sense of humor was as warped as his. "Okay, let me rephrase that. The assignment that no one else sane wanted."

Grissom gave Greg's hand another amused shake, obviously not insulted. Greg could almost see that small curve of lips that Grissom used in place of a smile. Those lips had featured pretty heavily in his fantasy, too, but Greg pushed on with the story, not wanting to think too hard - and that was a poor choice of words - about what fun he'd gotten up to with fantasy!Gil, especially not with Grissom sitting so close to him. "So I get to the scene, after having survived your driving-"

"I have a clean driving record."

"Yeah, that's because it's impossible to measure speeds that slow. Anyway, it turns out that the shit assignment is literally a shit assignment, because the DB is on the john. But that was actually the high point of my day, 'cause there's nothing like a little potty humor to make a really messy scene seem a little less daunting. So there I was, with my day finally looking up… which should have been a warning for me to."

Grissom sounded confused, which was funny considering he'd been there for this part. "For you to what?"

Greg pushed their combined hands up, like Grissom needed another clue besides him saying, "To look up. If I had, we might not be buried under 80 gazillion tons of old housing timber, and I could be back at the lab; showered, fed, and in air-conditioned bliss, instead of hot, stinky, hungry, and in broken leg hell."

"If it helps any, I'm also hot, stinky, hungry and buried under 80 gazillion tons of old housing, though admittedly my leg's only bruised. Hell light: all the heat, but only half the calories."

Greg groaned. "You did not just make a physics pun. Tell me it isn't so."

"I hate to be the one to tell you, Greg, but I did. I'm very sorry."

He sounded so serious it was all Greg could do not to laugh again. He found it funny, in a strange sort of way, that one of the best parts of this day so far was being stuck here with Grissom, getting to talk like this without any of the awkwardness that usually hit him when he tried to be casual with the man. It was probably the concussion of course, but Greg still liked it.

Then he had the thought that this was probably how Grissom talked to Sara when they were alone. It made that lingering sore spot on Greg's heart bleed just a little more. "Not that this hasn't been fun, but I really think I'm ready to get out of here now."

Squeezing his hand, Grissom said, "It certainly hasn't been the best time I've had holding hands with someone in the dark."

His voice was mild, warm, and it was obvious he was joking, but it was just a little too close to wishes that Greg was trying his hardest not to make. "Could you not do that?"

"Do what?"

Greg drew in a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain it without sounding stupid. Seeing as there was no way, he just went with, "That flirty thing."

"I thought you liked that." Grissom sounded surprised.

"I do. Or at least I did. But since…"

"Since?"

Greg had meant to keep his discovery to himself, but, oh yeah, his verbal filters were totally gone. "Since I saw you coming out of Sara's place."

There was a pause that Greg could almost see it had so much weight. Then Gris said, "I've been to all of your houses. Why would seeing me come out of Sara's make a difference?"

It wasn't as if Greg hadn't expected Grissom to deny it, but he knew what he'd seen. "If I had to define it, I guess I would say the shirt was what did it."

"The shirt?"

"Yeah, it was blue and very casual-y."

Grissom laughed, sounding a little relieved. "Casual-y isn't a real word, but I think I know the one your talking about. Do you have something against the shirt? Does it look like one that hurt you when you were a child? Or perhaps it just reminds you of the one's you used to wear around the lab before you decided to try to be respectable?"

"Hey, leave my shirts out of this! And I've always been respectable."

"Yes, you have. And are. But I still don't understand what you have against my shirt. Or what you have against that shirt being worn to Sara's."

Greg was hot, hurt, and tired, and he knew that at any moment he was going to say something he couldn't take back, but he couldn't seem to stop the conversation. Maybe he didn't really want to. Maybe he was just using the situation as an excuse to talk to Grissom about things he'd normally never dare to. Still trying to be cautious, he said, "Because it meant that you were there to be friendly."

"I see. No, I don't. I know I'm not the most sociable person in the world, but surely you don't consider me unfriendly."

"No, it meant that you were there to be friendly."

"Ah, I'd missed the emphasis. That explains everything." Greg just knew that Grissom had one eyebrow raised while he said that.

There was silence for a moment, a dim flash of a silvered eye telling Greg that he was being studied. The longer the silence went on, and the longer that Grissom didn't deny everything, the more that last sliver of hope Greg had harbored faded.

He'd known he was going to regret talking about this, and now that things had become even more awkward than they usually were, he did, but his leg was really starting to hurt badly, and he desperately wanted something else to think about besides the pain. "Gris, I know you don’t want to talk about… well, what we were talking about, but could you talk about something, please?"

"Is your leg hurting?"

"Yeah, and my head, too."

There was another pause, and then, "Greg, why would you want me to not flirt with you just because you thought I'd been friendly with Sara? I've seen you and Sandy kidding with each other, and I know she's married. That doesn't seem to bother you, so why does it with me?"

Well, he'd asked for Grissom to talk, and it wasn't like the man probably hadn't already guessed what the problem was. And why not make his boss freak out when there was nowhere for either of them to go? "Because it isn't just flirting when I do it with you."

"Oh."

And there was that awkward silence again. He was so damn good at causing it that Greg figured he should put it on his resume. Right after _I have a lot of experience sticking my foot in my mouth_. "Please, boss, I know you're uncomfortable now, and I'm sure I'll be sorry I said that later, but I really do need something to take my mind off things, so if you can just hold off on the freak out until we're out of here, I'd really appreciate it."

Grissom squeezed his hand, laughing again. "I think I can hold off on freaking out until later."

He really sounded like he meant it, and Greg felt some of the tension slide away. "Good."

"What do you want to talk about considering you didn't like my previous topic?"

Greg didn't like the previous topic? He'd thought that Gris was the one bothered by it. Still, it wasn't like the subject didn't have its sore points for Greg. Maybe it had been him. "It's that it's hard, you know. I like Sara; she's smart, and funny, and she deserves some good things in her life, but… but I'm still envious of what she has, and I can't help but wonder about things."

Grissom's voice was soft, curious. "What things?"

Well, it wasn't like Greg had much to lose at that point. "I knew that Sara liked you. Hell, everyone knew that Sara liked you. People in whole different countries knew it, because she wasn't exactly subtle. But when you just seemed to ignore it, even when it was kind of obvious you at least were fond of her… I just kind of figured that you had problems with dating a coworker. Fuck, maybe I just wanted to believe that, because then it meant that I never had to risk freaking you out by telling you what I was feeling. Not when you wouldn't do anything about it even if you were interested, too."

"That… almost makes sense."

"Yeah, well, it sounds really stupid now, 'cause obviously that's not the case, but at least it was a comforting assumption. Safe. Now, I just keep thinking that maybe… maybe if I'd just been a little braver, if I'd just asked, if I hadn't made that assumption, then maybe it would be Sara who envied me."

Grissom started to say something, but cut it off when they heard some noises in the distance. They waited a couple of minutes, but nothing came through any clearer. Still it made Greg hopeful that they'd be out of there soon.

But Grissom just took up where they'd left off, seriously in lecture mode. "You should always question your assumptions, Greg."

And that was so not what Greg needed at the moment, but Grissom would be Grissom, and everything was fair game to be turned into a lesson. "Yeah, I know. You've told me a hundred times, right? Sloppy habits and all; I remember."

Knowing he should just let things lie, but tempted beyond reason by the fact that Grissom was still talking to him, Greg screwed up his courage and asked, "Can I just ask you a question without maybe precipitating that looming freak out or anything?"

Grissom pulled their joined hands up to his chest, over his heart. "Well, since you didn't believe me last time, maybe this will work. I solemnly promise not to freak out until later."

Feeling an almost hysterical need to laugh, Greg shut his eyes tight, closing out even the faint outline of Grissom he could see. "If I'd asked…before you and Sara… would I have had a chance?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Sort of no, but really yes, if you know what I mean."

"I rarely know what you mean, Greg, but the answer is yes."

"Oh." It hurt, worse than he'd thought it would. Damn it, it really was a no good, very bad, fucking horrible day.

"Greg-"

Oh, God, Greg really didn't want to hear Grissom say he was sorry, or offer some other type of good will, not right now. "No, don't. It's okay. Really. It's what I get for making assumptions."

"Greg-"

The noises from outside cut him off, getting louder, closer. They could hear banging near them, and the debris suspended precariously around them groaned, resettling, making Greg grip Grissom's hand even tighter, almost afraid to breathe. But the only thing that happened was they heard a voice, one of the rescue guys that Greg could never remember his name, calling to them, "You guys okay in there?"

Grissom shouted back, "I'm fine, but Sanders needs medical attention. I'm pretty sure his leg is broken, and he probably has a concussion."

It suddenly occurred to Greg that when Grissom did freak out about what he'd said, that he could blame it on the concussion, and that Grissom would probably pretend to believe him. At least it meant he might still have a job when this was over, and that was one of the few bright spots in what had turned out to be the day from Hell.

Everything happened quickly after that; voices calling, machines cranking, and light streaming in. The light turned out to be a big problem, making their eyes tear as they readjusted, and making Greg's stomach finally give up the battle, sending him twisting to his side to avoid throwing up on himself, the pain that followed just adding to the cycle. The last twenty minutes of their wait passed with Grissom rubbing comforting circles on Greg's back, and Greg trying to keep his internal organs internal.

The EMT's wouldn't give Greg any pain medication because of the concussion, but they did let Grissom ride along to the hospital, sitting on the bench beside the gurney, letting Greg hold onto his hand against the swaying of the ambulance.

Greg tried not to read anything into it, tried not to wish that it meant something besides Grissom taking care of his own, but he wasn't batting too well in the wish department lately.

He noticed Grissom studying him again, completely visible this time. It sort of made Greg feel like an insect under glass, but that wasn't unusual considering who was involved.

Then Grissom smiled at him, wryly shaking his head at whatever he saw on Greg's face. "Greg? About making assumptions?"

And great, it was either another lecture, or it was the opening strains of the freak out. Greg sighed, figuring he'd have to face it sometime, whichever it was. "Yeah?"

"You haven't learned your lesson very well."

So it was the lecture then, but Greg didn't understand what he was supposed to have learned. "What?"

"You're still making assumptions."

He was? "I am? About what?"

But Grissom just shook his head. "That would be telling."

Greg thought about the assumptions he'd made. It wasn't the coworker thing, because he'd already admitted to that, and Gris had talked about it. But there wasn't anything else… except. Except that Grissom was with Sara.

He needed to back up, think this through. What exactly had he seen? Gil, coming out of Sara's house, wearing the very casual-y shirt. It was friendly. It was friendly.

But Grissom said he was still making assumptions, so maybe it wasn't as friendly as he'd thought. As he'd assumed. And, whoa, his head was spinning with possibilities, though maybe that was just the less than smooth ride.

So he'd been making assumptions before, but he couldn't risk making them again. After all, maybe Grissom was just testing him. Still. "I've been making an ass of myself, huh?"

"Of you and me, yes."

All right, that… wasn't helpful at all. Greg wondered what he should do now.

But Grissom took pity on him, ignoring the EMT's puzzled glance as he leaned in close, his voice pitched just for Greg to hear. "Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"Just ask me."

/story


End file.
